


LOVE LANGUAGE

by adelindschade



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, minor mention of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelindschade/pseuds/adelindschade
Summary: Short series ofd rabbles describing each pairings and/or characters love language, or how someone primarily shows/receives affection.In order:First: AdalindSecond: NickThird: MonroeFourth: Rosalee
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt/Adalind Schade
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54





	LOVE LANGUAGE

**LOVE LANGUAGE**

  1. _Words of Affirmation_
  2. _Gifts_
  3. _Acts of Service_
  4. _Quality Time_
  5. _Physical Touch_



**_Five: Physical Touch_ **

Adalind and Nick viewed sex very, very differently.

She sought it out almost like a distraction – depending on what she got out of it. Most of her liaisons were means to an end; her body was an asset to be employed whenever it was convenient. Yet, the act itself was cold, and unattached. Flirting was as obligatory and meaningless as a meeting that could’ve easily been condensed to an e-mail.

That being said – she had an alarmingly high number of partners that, before settling down, she didn’t think much of. Most of them came and went; from high-school flings, that one college professor who gave her an ultimatum (that one she still felt gross about); jumping from one royal to another… Not to slut shame herself in any way shape or form but, as pop-culture may refer, she had a high body count – and it never bothered her before.

Not until she settled into a comfortable monogamy with Nick.

The sex was amazing, even more so than their first tryst. The second time – the authentic time – where they both were comfortable in their own skins, aggravated by the desperation it could be the last – well, it really set the standard, and Nick was never one to disappoint afterward.

But it was never just sex for Nick. There was a greater element of intimacy that elevated to act to lovemaking – something she didn’t think much of before, not until she was out of breath, seeing stars, and clambering for more.

She wasn’t sure what made the difference.

Was it the way he kissed her senselessly when she was on the cusp of unraveling?

Was it the way he held her, like a vice grip, ensuring she was staying put? She once thought the act was possessive – surely previous partners bordered on aggressive grabbed her in a similar manner – but Nick didn’t grab, not like she was used to. His touch was firm, sure, but gentle. His fingers didn’t leave a mark, not intentionally. There was a degree of overpowering, but Nick wasn’t guilty of controlling, not the way she was accustomed to. There was an element of teasing, like the way she tried to regain an advantage, and all he had to do was flash that signature grin and keep his hands on her hips – and she was locked in until he decided otherwise. Rather than feeling confined, or objectified, as she had been plenty times before, it felt enthralling, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand how it was different! Yet, undeniably, it was, and it filled her stomach with that light, fluttery sensation each time his hands settled on her flesh with that same strength she admired – but never with an ounce of cruelty or indifference she had conditioned herself to accept. Never from him.

It wasn’t always his way or the highway. She wasn’t the submissive type, not really – far from it. She had her way, too, and it felt extraordinary to have him under her palms, completely at her mercy. It was a power thing – some habits were hard to kill – but the way he looked at her from underneath stopped her breath; further enraptured by how soft his fingertips felt on her skin while he had no problem encouraging her to keep going.

No awkward silence. No primal grunts or heavy pants. Lots of soft encouraged laced with a tender warmth she didn’t think possible from him, not before she unveiled him as something other than a hardened Detective or a cruel Grimm, like she painted him out to be.

There were times she did like the nostalgia of a rough fuck, no lie about it. It was engrained, an unsavory habit akin to the Hexenbiest’s sinister nature, but she did herself a disservice pretending it didn’t exist. All she had to do was ask – and Nick aimed to please. Armed with an unparallel strength only a Grimm could wield, she was surprised to find even she may have underestimated his delivery. On the edge of passing out, she had to tap him on the shoulder with more grit than usual and _call for a break_. That was unheard of – and what was more unheard of, was the fact he listened. Not only listen but was considerate enough cradle her until she was ready to resume.

No one had done that for her before.

No one had asked her if something was okay – not once, not twice, not like he had.

It went both ways.

She knew from the get-go she had far more experience than he did. They even discussed it, though briefly. He already had an idea of her past – knowing two of her previous partners personally – but never held it against her. When she admitted she lost her virginity at thirteen, he tried to suppress his surprise, but never questioned why. She didn’t elaborate that in the introductory instance, it was more coerced than voluntary, granted her partner was a senior in high school, and she was an impressionable soon-to-be-freshman who thought having a high-school-senior as a boyfriend was the biggest accomplishment in her life. The things she’d allow him to get away with just to maintain the relationship in retrospect was not embarrassing as she previously thought but a source of shame, a source of shame that she held herself in so little respect.

She wouldn’t burden Nick with that fact. It was a chapter she closed a long time ago, a lesson that took too long to learn. Cycling similar partners under parallel circumstances until she finally, finally figured out what she was doing wrong.

His first girlfriend was in high school, but his first sexual experience didn’t happen until he was nineteen. He could count all his partners on one hand. She could use all her fingers and toes and not have enough.

Sex meant something to him – it wasn’t just another activity to pass time or get something out of. A romantic, indeed, and when he shared parts of himself, his partner was going to get the whole package.

Adalind couldn’t get wrap her head around that concept, not at first. When she was truly dedicated to someone, she showed her commitment through acts – and not just sexual ones. She found herself still reserved, anticipating rejection and disappointment, so the act of sex was superficial. Her defense mechanism hindered any enjoyment to be derived outside the pure physicality of the act.

She still sought out their approval – dependent on it. The lengths she was willing to go to earn their favor, just for an ounce of acknowledgement, was astonishingly desperate, and thinking about how much energy she spent, and morals she set aside, for people who weren’t even around anymore was an awful truth to swallow.

Nick was an all-in kind of person. He never withheld. She never anticipated that – let alone that she’d ever be a recipient. She could see it with Kelly, oh how much he loved that boy with reckless abandon, more than her mother ever expressed with her. And for a time, he was outwardly friendly with her, getting over their previous grudge slowly but surely, but crossing the lines to become lovers unveiled a whole different side she hadn’t recognized before. His affection was unhindered; he never denied her in front of his peers or demeaned her as something lesser than; and he never withdrew on a whim or as a punishment for something petty.

They talked – actually talked. She could scream and shout, throw a tantrum that’d shame a toddler, and he could return the favor with a voice that reminded her that he was not to be swayed or muted; but after the hysterics, they’d always end up in an embrace. They hated conflict – even if she leaned on it because it was something she knew too well. He wouldn’t allow it – proving to her he intended to make it work, even if she made it difficult.

He was just as capable of calming her down with a different voice – the one he reserved for work, the kind of tone that implied his cool-head prevailed even if the vein in his neck popped.

There were instances where she was the voice of reason: such as how Sean made a remark that didn’t set well with either of them. Adalind had adapted a decent amour for herself, so a slight against her character, or as Sean remarked, her not-so-clean repertoire of questionable partners, didn’t stick to her skin – but Nick had adopted the role as her protector, and while she had thought it limited to her actually well-being, he extended it to her character, too, and calling someone’s significant other as ‘ _been-there-done-that’_ did not sit well with Nick _at all._

She had to justify Sean’s remark as ‘lashing out’, a response that came natural to him whenever his bravado was questioned. Having proven him wrong, and seeing a Grimm and Hexenbiest thrive together despite his prediction otherwise, provoked a reaction from the Zauberbiest – maybe out of jealousy, but Adalind suspected it had to do something with the two no longer being under his thumb to manipulate.

Sean only learned his lesson to keep those comments to himself after Nick bloodied his nose. It was uncharacteristic for the latter, a man usually composed and keenly aware of consequences, and Adalind was thankful Sean didn’t impose those consequences after realizing he got off lucky.

When Adalind inquired as to what provoked the response, she had to press three times before Nick relented. Apparently, when Nick expressed difficulty in getting answers out of a tight-lipped wesen, Sean offhandedly commenting on Adalind’s impeccable ability of disarming even the most uptight men, and how she could probably loosen up the ‘uncooperative gentlemen’ – Sean’s word, of course. 

Nick didn’t even give a warning – just a satisfying fist to the nose, which Adalind privately praised him for, even though on face value, she chastised him for losing his temper so quickly – just to cover his ass in case someone overheard. Both knew she didn’t mean though.

Another thing she came to appreciate: Nick didn’t share. He didn’t like to, nor would he compromise to. Didn’t matter if she had a past – she was his present, and foreseeable future, and he had no intention to being inclusive.

She came to his defense, too, on many occasions. He was a Grimm with enemies and some wesen were displeased with his liberalness in the community. Fraternizing with wesen was one thing; befriending was another; but bedding one? Procreating with one?? He breached a status quo, and many were not content with his example.

Wesen – complete strangers – who looked at her differently because of Nick? Those interactions unsettled her. They barely knew her and yet judged her, _judged him_ , without appreciating his character. Would they rather Nick revert to his traditional roots and behead with the same degree of prejudice they were guilty of? He may advise her to keep quiet, to ignore the whispers, but Adalind was not known to be quiet.

“You should be more afraid of me than him,” she once threatened a prying wesen. Nick had better sense to pull her away when he caught whiff of her rising temper, keeping both hands on her so she wouldn’t make good on her promise. Anyone with lesser strength wouldn’t be able to contain her. With her point made, whispered must’ve made their way around Portland, because she was starting to see more heads bowed in her presence than peering eyes.

Nick validated her words. She remembered the time he admitted she scared him, and she was mortified rather than proud with herself. Seeing the horror in her face prompted him to elaborate, to assuage her concerns. _Not like that,_ he assured. They’d been together officially for nearly two years at that point. What he meant was she had become a staple in his life, and he knew he’d unravel if she disappeared again – a reminder of the trauma she inflicted on him once, when her hand was forced. _Never again_ , she promised. _You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried,_ she added smugly. That must’ve been enough for him because no sooner had she uttered those words; her lips were occupied for the rest of the night.

The gravity of their relationship really settled under her skin the morning after, when he stayed, and to her surprise, so did she. It was the first of many mornings met with bare skin scarcely covered by bedding. He insisted on contact, as had she. They sought it out equally. She liked to lay her head against his chest, just to hear his heart beating. His hand would rest against her spine, rolling his knuckles up and down from her shoulder to the small of her back. The motion relaxed her. He liked to comb her hair, too. She caught him playing with it plenty of times.

He was restless if she wasn’t in contact, opting to envelope her from behind if she incidentally rolled away in her sleep. The warmth was welcomed. As was when he nuzzled into her neck, leaving behind a hickey or two.

Prior engagements – if she may call it as such – usually ended prematurely. Either she bailed out before her partner could, or she prepared herself for some sloppy excuse mid-dress, while she held her breath waiting for the door to slam on their way out. If she was lucky, she’d sleep through it, and wake up to nothing more than a disturbed bed, but she could always count on rising the next morning alone.

That was certainly not the case with Nick. Not the first time, not the second, and certainly not anytime soon.

The few times she did leave him in bed post-coitus was because of necessity: food, of course, and the look in his face when he discovered her raiding the pantry upon realizing she had left the comforts of their bedroom was humorous. He appeared betrayed by the fact she ‘abandoned’ him for something has frivolous as bread spread with peanut butter. _Stop doing that_ , he warned lightly. She tried to escape but it was futile – he ushered her back up to their bedroom, contraband in hand.

It wasn’t the sex she appreciated – well, she did – as phenomenal as it was; what really cemented the fact they were in it was the long haul were the tender moments of affections that came before and after. The surprise hugs from behind; how insistent he was to hold her hand – on the couch, in the car, during walks, whenever she was near; how fond he was to comb her hair with his fingers; how he never left without a kiss goodbye and returned home to repeat the same gesture; guiding her with his hand on her back; rubbing her arm whenever she was riled or stressed.

So long he was near, they were almost always in touch.


End file.
